


Presents Not Needed (And Sometimes Not Preferred)

by Ozymanreis



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [56]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Animal Sacrifice, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Goats, M/M, Rescue Missions, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ritual sacrifice, Sherlock." Jim repeated lazily, "Are you feeling alright? You’re not usually this slow."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Presents Not Needed (And Sometimes Not Preferred)

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory Christmas story!

The door slams open, vaguely startling the man on the bed, “Why is there a small goat in my living room?” 

Jim had been staring at the ceiling in the darkness, the soft striking of piano keys emanating from his phone, “Welcome home, darling.” He drawled, a smile cutting across his face as the words left his mouth, “Happy Christmas.” 

"About  _that_.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, honing in on Jim’s form. Didn’t really matter, shadows prevented him from seeing any nuance of facial expression, “I repeat the question: why is there a  _goat_  in my living room?”

"Don’t be so simplistic." Jim scolded, "It’s not a normal goat."

"Oh, what’s special about it?" 

"It’s tiny."

"Miniature mammal or not — "

"Pygmy goat." 

"Whatever diminutive you choose, for the third time now:  _why_  is it in  _my living room_?” 

"Ritual sacrifice." Jim says as casually as if he’d been talking about food colorings. 

Certain that he’d misheard, because Moriarty certainly didn’t… or maybe he did, “Could you repeat that?” Sherlock prompted, falling against the doorframe.

"Ritual sacrifice, Sherlock." Jim repeated lazily, "Are you feeling alright? You’re not usually this slow." 

"You’re not slaughtering it in this house."

"What?" The outline of Jim shuddered, scrambling to sit up, "What makes you think  _I’d_  do  _that_?”

"You just said — "

"I was  _saving_  it from ritual sacrifice, doofus.” Indignation. Jim Moriarty was  _many_  things, many  _awful_ things, but — “Seriously, Sherlock, did you see that thing? It’s  _adorable_.”

"And… someone was going to sacrifice it to their god?"

"Well,  _maybe_ …”

"It wasn’t a strictly religious ceremony based on this inane holiday?"

"Based on this holiday…" Jim grumbled, " _Dinner_ , Sherlock. Christmas  _dinner_.”

"Ah. You object to eating meat? Didn’t take you for a vegetarian."

"I don’t, and I’m  _not._ " He huffed, popping off the bed, taking Sherlock roughly by hand, dragging him downstairs, "I just… saw him… and… and…" They tumbled down the stairs, mildly startling the small, waddling creature on unsteady legs, "Just  _look_!” Jim squealed, pointing at the cloven-hoofed animal, a soft  _meeeh_  escaping its lips. Black spots on coarse white fur.

"I… suppose its got cute features."

Jim puffed out his bottom lip, leaning against his slender form, “Go on. Pet her.” 

Sherlock stepped forward, dragging Jim — with some effort — along evenly with him. He held out his hand, the tiny nostrils inspecting every inch of the offered hand, “Jim?”

"Mm?"

"Do we just… own a goat now?"

"Suppose we do." 


End file.
